In a party after the end of the world, the audience walk into something between a warehouse rave and a children’s tea party. They are given a pre-written name tag, a party hat, and a strict set of instructions.
We want to trick people into seeing really wild and subversive art. It’s one hundred percent party and one hundred percent live theatre. But as well as that, it’s about taking a remote perspective on parties.
Parties promise so much.
Since rave culture they’re easily seen as the apex of human ecstasy and even an antidote to alienation, isolation, conformity: the spiritually eroding tenants of late capitalism. But the apex of a party is so often just a room of pilled-up dancers, each withdrawn into their own world, barely aware of each other.
Parties do have a radical heart, but it’s not always beating.
And like other things with radical hearts, parties are scary. They’re awkward, expensive and often deeply uninclusive.
To us, a party after the end of the world starts with being honest about these flaws, and then taking a remote look at what parties might be.
“It was just fantastic. Lost myself in the whole thing.”
“I found myself in a room full of almost strangers, giddy with the possibility of positive human interaction, and a new understanding that this work so subtlely and cleverly has highlighted our separateness and brought us all together.” – State of the Arts
Instruction in the ancient art of ‘partying’
“If the whole night was an exercise in melting the social anxiety of a large group of strangers, then it worked as well as any drug – we could have known each other for a decade rather than an hour.”
“We were more than active participants in the experience, we were the experience”